"In that time we sat together, we forged an emotional space where we could truly be vulnerable."
Written by Morgan Burkle
On a Thursday evening last summer, I turned onto the gravel drive of Soulful Prairies, rolled my windows down and turned my music off. I heard the sounds of nature as I drove down the long curvy road, and I felt my body relax despite the nerves I had carried all day. After parking next to the barn, I slowly walked inside, joining a few other women who had arrived early. Despite having read the description of the Feed Your Soul Gestalt Group, I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. “Open your heart to the differences that make people unique” felt risky for a few reasons:
- I had become accustomed to a social echo chamber at that point in my life, and I had intentionally kept myself in that space to protect my peace after recent conflict.
- I had been ostracized in the past because of my differences, despite always trying to accept others for theirs.
- Speaking openly to a group of strangers about my personal experiences or current struggles seemed a bit daunting.
But after everyone had gathered in the barn, Linda led us toward a pasture and shared some basic safety rules about interacting with horses in close proximity. This included where to stand next to the horses, and where to avoid placing yourself to reduce the chance of injury if they ever reacted to something suddenly. She explained how to recognize their basic body movements as instinctual signs of communication, like how to surmise whether they were relaxed or alert by observing their ear positions (among other things). Linda explained that horses truly live in the moment, and as prey animals they have a keen sense for feeling the environment around them including sounds, sights, and energy. She also encouraged us to truly notice our own bodies: not just for safety reasons, but for anything we might feel within ourselves emotionally once we were in the pasture.
Fully briefed, we were encouraged to enter and join the herd. Additional guidance was to observe or interact with the horses if we felt comfortable, but to avoid speaking with others in the group for a bit. Admittedly, this instruction was hard for me as soon as we walked in; I have often utilized my voice as a soothing tool to reassure animals, and I historically filled any silence in human company with my words. Still, I consciously held back utilizing that protective tool I had picked up somewhere in my life. And in complete silence, I felt my anxiety grow as I slowly approached these majestic creatures.
Fear crept in to remind me that these horses might not recognize me or know I was trustworthy; for all they knew I could be a threat. This was compounded by the knowledge that my hands-on experience with horses had been very limited, so I paused to try and slow my breath. Once I felt sufficiently regulated, I gathered the courage to reach out and touch the nearest horse…but he shook off my hand and turned his head away slightly. So I tried to pet a different spot on his body…but he started to walk away. Doubt over every detail crowded my mind for a moment: Had I done something to upset him? Had I reached out too quickly? Was I radiating anxiety despite my efforts to let it go? But I came back to the present moment and realized he was simply finding a new place to graze.
We stayed in the pasture for about 15 minutes before we moved on to the indoor arena, and Linda brought Keebler (one of the horses) to join us. We picked our seats in the circle of chairs, and started to settle in. I looked around and noticed the high ceilings of the arena were adorned with beautiful strings of lights, but the natural glow of the sunset was still shining through an abundance of windows. I set my water bottle and purse down next to my chair, crookedly resting on the floor made of sand. I half-smiled at the women around me, feeling reassured that most looked as cautious as I felt. Then Linda began with a brief description of Equine Gestalt Therapy, and shared a few other offerings at Soulful Prairies.
She lifted a clipboard from her lap, and showed us a laminated list. Linda explained that these were basic statements or promises that are honored by those that come to Soulful Prairies. So we passed the list around, each reading one pledge out loud, and I recognized the communal value of our presence and intentions in that moment. Then we were given the chance to choose a small trinket out of a bag making its way around the circle. We were encouraged to bring these glow-in-the-dark stones home and set them on a windowsill we see frequently. The idea was for them to soak up sun throughout the day, so that we had a physical reminder of the light within us when they glowed each night. They would also remind us of our time at Soulful Prairies.
Next we passed around a deck of cards that had colorful, painting-style pictures on one side, and a paragraph of text on the other. Linda asked us to randomly pull one without looking; she mentioned that people usually ended up with a card they could resonate with, despite leaving it up to chance. Then she explained that after everyone had a chance to share with the group (if they felt comfortable participating in that way), we would take a short break before she asked to work with one of us directly. The rest of the group would observe at first, but would shortly get involved in supportive roles for the person who had been chosen.
As people started to volunteer and share things they were struggling with, I listened quietly (as Linda had asked of us) while a little stuffed animal made its way to each person raising their hand to go next. Truly, this was the most unnatural feeling for me; my instinct when I hear someone upset is to share reasons I can empathize with what they are feeling, in hopes they feel less alone. This new experience, strange as it felt for me, was a powerful way to show support simply: with my physical presence and attention. Even though I would guess the age range of the group was between 10 years younger than me and 40 years older, I felt connected to each of these women in some way that night, through kinship of life events or current struggles shared. In that time we sat together, as we each spoke of trauma, pain, frustrations and even wishes, we forged an emotional space where we could truly be vulnerable.
I saw pieces of my past, present, and possible future in these women. I felt emotions fill my chest and tears fill my eyes. We laughed at times, nodding in a deep understanding that I had not felt in a long time with that many people at once. And all the while, Keebler circled our group. Sometimes he stopped and licked the air, or touched his face to someone’s back. Other times he stood farther away, like he was avoiding the thickness of emotions flowing from us. But he was there with us, witnessing us, while we processed heavy things by simply saying them out loud.
More wonder revealed itself when Linda was working one on one with someone. The two of them sat down after our break and discussed which direction they should prioritize that night: What was holding this person back the most? What did they need to finish processing so they could move forward? Once decided, we all went within a fenced area in the middle of the arena, Keebler included. Linda grabbed Hulu hoops and traffic cones, laying them out in a semi circle, and asked the woman to imagine each spot representing different time periods from the past. As she stepped into each hoop, she was encouraged to allow her body to feel the emotions that came with each memory.
The rest of us stood on the other side of each space, and we held her hands as she talked about the good parts she remembered. Meanwhile, Keebler stood at attention: tall and still like he was frozen. As this woman started to share details, Keebler slowly shifted sideways until he closed the open part of the circle with the length of his body. His eyes watched the area around us as if he were the scouting member of our herd in the wild, protecting this person in a vulnerable moment. Meanwhile, the woman moved from cone to cone, recounting each time period she metaphorically stood within. But as she arrived at the space in front of me that represented a difficult memory, her voice paused mid-sentence.
I gave a light squeeze to her hands encouragingly, and tried to make eye contact, but the words seemed caught in her throat. Linda came and stood next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder, and softly but verbally prompted her to share what happened next. All of a sudden, I heard a loud cough from Keebler echo throughout the arena. Surprised by this, many of us laughed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him stick his tongue far out of his mouth, like he had just tasted something awful. Next he walked over until he was right behind the woman, and lowered his head until his nose gently touched her back.
I’m not sure if she was distracted by the silliness of the previous moment, or emboldened by the touch of both Linda and this gentle giant behind her, but the woman refocused on my gaze and started to speak openly again. I watched the shift of her courage building, while Keebler physically braced her. Despite some sadness in her voice as she described events, her words flowed more freely. And as Linda continued to validate her emotions and prompt her with the occasional question, I felt my own eyes well up with tears as I stood there witness to this person in front of me, attempting to recognize the emotions in her body again…in that visceral way we’ve all been told not to at some point in our lives.
At the end of the experience, I gave this person my most heartfelt hug before gathering my things. I said goodbye to Linda after others had started to disperse, and I walked out of the arena towards my car. But when I felt the breeze on my face I stopped; I closed my eyes for a moment and stood still, feeling the cooler air as it traveled over me. Then I looked up at the sky: overwhelmingly dark but speckled with countless stars, and I felt the energy vibrating through my body from my head all the way to my toes. I had not expected to feel any of this that night. I couldn’t fully describe what I had experienced yet. But I allowed myself to fully soak it all in before finally starting the drive home.
